


These Plants Can Kill

by EllieSaxon



Series: Breaking the Grip [3]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Anniversaries, Bottom Sherlock Holmes, Established Relationship, Established Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Family connections, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Food, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Mini Holiday, Smut, Top John Watson, anniversary surprises
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-08
Updated: 2017-02-08
Packaged: 2018-09-22 19:16:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9621836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EllieSaxon/pseuds/EllieSaxon
Summary: To celebrate their sixth anniversary, John decides they need to get out of London, and takes Sherlock on a little weekend getaway.Sherlock thinks the sixth anniversary seems a bit arbitrary for a holiday, and is sure John has more on his mind than just a weekend in the North of England. Now if only he could figure out what.(Can be a stand-alone)





	

**Author's Note:**

> Hey all you beautiful boys and girls and everything in-between!
> 
> So I've had this partial idea in my head for a while now, and it just seemed to work perfectly with the BTG universe (set before 'Age Before Beauty'). You don't need to have read BTG to understand what's going on, it's just our two favorite idiots being ridiculously in love with each other. Of course, if you DO want to read BTG, by all means, I LOVE seeing the hit count increase (even if it's only by one or two). If you don't want to take the time, all you need to know is John and Sherlock met at uni when they were 20 and 18 respectively, circumstances led to them getting to know each other, becoming friends, and falling in love. 
> 
> This has not been beta'd nor brit-picked. I edited as best I could, but typos and Americanisms are sure to have slipped through. Please feel free to point anything out, I'm always looking to improve.
> 
> Now I hope you enjoy this fluff-fest of two idiots being almost sickeningly in love with each other (there's not a drop of angst to be found anywhere!)
> 
> Ellie/Jens xx

 

* * *

 

John was up to something, Sherlock thought as he waited for John to finish checking them in. John was definitely up to something, but what it was, he had yet to figure out. It was their six year anniversary, six years since John treated him to a victory dinner at Angelo’s, after which Sherlock screwed up all his courage, climbed into John’s bed, kissed him, and had yet to stop. It was their six year anniversary, and two weeks ago, John suggested they get out of town to celebrate with a little getaway for the weekend, but _‘don’t worry, I’ll plan the whole thing.’_

It could have been that John was just being romantic, John really was quite the romantic, always finding small ways to remind Sherlock how much he means to him. Organizing a weekend getaway for their sixth anniversary wouldn’t be all that out of character. But why the sixth anniversary? It seemed a bit arbitrary. When it came to anniversaries, society had adapted a quinary system; people paid attention to the fives, made bigger deals out of the fives. For their fifth anniversary, he and John had gone to an orchestral performance of the complete works of John Williams – a little something for Sherlock and a little something for John – followed by dinner, then back to the flat for lots and lots of anniversary sex. Now for their sixth, it’s a long weekend away in Alnwick in Northumberland? John claimed it was just because it’d been forever since they’d been away on non-case related business, and decided to roll it into their anniversary…  But no, no, John was up to something, Sherlock was sure of it.

“They have us in room 122.” John said when he returned from the check-in desk with two old-fashion keys. The inn John had chosen really was taking ‘authentic country charm’ seriously – aside from the high speed wi-fi of course.

“It’s up on the second floor and at the end of the hall. Apparently, it’s very private,” he added, giving Sherlock a wink, and headed for the stairs.

“Oh, and are we going to be needing a lot of privacy?”

“Well it is our anniversary weekend, Love. If everything goes to plan, we will definitely be needing our privacy.”

“A plan? You have a plan? May I ask what is involved in this plan?” Sherlock knew it! He knew John was up to something!

“You’re just going to have to wait and see.” John grinned. “And no snooping or trying to deduce what it is!”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

 

Room 122 was, just as John had said, at the end of the hall, and quite nice. In the corner, there was a little table with two plush looking chairs, a large window looking out over the inn’s small back garden, and in the center of the room, was a large bed absolutely covered in pillows.

“You know,” Sherlock said, dropping his bag on one of the chairs, “this place kind of reminds me of that inn we stayed in after you won your championship game, that first year we met.”

“It kind of does,” John nodded, dropping his own bag on the floor, and flopping down on the foot of the bed. “However, unlike then, there’s only one bed, and I certainly don’t plan on spending a single night of our stay here staring across the divide, pining for you.”

“Hmmmm, no. Pining’s bad, Pining’s very, very bad. No pining,” mumbled Sherlock as he stalked across the room to loom over John. “I say we put all thoughts of horrible, horrible pining out of our heads, and we test out this bed, see if it’s up to our standards?”

At the feel of John’s hands on his hips, tugging him down into his lap, Sherlock felt a shiver run up his spine. Even after all their years together, and countless moments of intimacy, Sherlock still felt that nervous thrill of excitement at John’s touch.

“Good thinking,” John hummed, his lips grazing Sherlock’s as he spoke. “We don’t want to have our weekend spoiled by a sub-par bed, that would be…”

"Terrible, unthinkable,” Sherlock finished for him, taking John’s face in his hands to claim his mouth for a proper kiss.

He loved kissing John. There was nothing he didn’t love doing with John – John made absolutely anything better – but he really loved kissing John. It was like their own special language, kissing, everything they felt, everything they thought, everything they wanted to say, they could tell each other through a kiss. In all their years together, their kisses ran the gambit from shy, gentle, and reassuring, to intense, passionate, and desperate, and everything in between. When they kissed, no matter what kind of kiss it was, they were more open and honest than at any other time, there was nothing they could hide from each other, not that they ever wanted to hide anything. Sherlock really loved kissing John.

As John’s arms tightened around him, Sherlock began to slowly roll his hips, and the kiss took on a life of its own. Hand wandered, lips parted, teeth nipped, tongues met, and breathing grew heavy. Sherlock felt a familiar tightness start to stir, but just as he was about to push John flat on the bed, divest him of his clothing, and indulge in what he’d been thinking about since they got on the train, another part of Sherlock’s anatomy made its presence known.

The sound of Sherlock’s stomach grumbling was enough to make John break the kiss. “Was that…” he started, clearly trying to fight off a giggle.

Sherlock felt a heat start rising to his cheeks that wasn’t entirely due to his and John’s recent activity. “Yes,” he blushed. “It’s a purely physiological response. I have no control over it. Just ignore it.” He just wanted to get back to kissing.

At that, John lost the fight. “Ignore it? Love, it sounds like there’s a tiger in the room with us!” he laughed. “When was the actual last time you ate? And don’t say this afternoon, because I know you slipped your sandwich to that dog in the station.”

It was true, he did. But it was an Irish Setter, and it looked so happy when it caught a whiff of the roast beef that Sherlock couldn’t very well deny it the sandwich. He wasn’t even all that hungry at the time.

“Fine,” Sherlock huffed. “Dinner last night. Now, can we get back to –”

“Oh no, not until we get some real food in you. Last night’s dinner hardly even counted as a meal, and I’m going to need to keep your energy levels up.”

“My energy levels are more than adequate.”

“Not for everything I have in mind. Come on, up you get.” John said, practically hoisting Sherlock off of him and onto his feet. “There’s a restaurant attached to the inn. I had a look at the menu, and the food looks good.”

“You, John Watson, are a terrible tease.”

“I know,” John grinned, “and yet you still seem to love me.”

“God help me, I do.” Sherlock sighed, and took a few deep breaths and readjusted himself, making sure there was nothing spoiling the line of his trousers. “I have no idea why, but I do.”

 

*******

               

The inn’s restaurant couldn’t have been more perfect if John had designed it himself. It was small – only about ten tables – and the dim lighting and candles on each table made it feel all the more cozy and intimate. With hands held across the top of the table, and feet brushing calves underneath, they split a bottle of wine, stole food off each other’s plates, and laughed as they eyed their fellow diners and flirted with each other. It was the perfect romantic dinner to start off their anniversary weekend, and John hoped it was a good sign for the rest of the trip.

 

John had just settled the bill, and was about to suggest they head back to their room, when Sherlock took his hand, and tugged him away from the stairs and towards the exit.

“The sun’s only just set, I thought we could go for a walk, look around the town a little. After all, you didn’t tell me where we were going, so I didn’t have any time to research before we came. Is that alright?” he asked, another blush spreading across his cheeks as he apparently read the confusion on John’s face. Sherlock was never more adorable than when he was flustered or embarrassed. Christ, John really was gone on him.

“More than. I’m just surprised, that’s all.” John chuckled. “I sort of expected you to be eager to finish what we started before dinner.”

“Don’t get me wrong, John, I am more than eager to get back to our room and get you out of those clothes. I rather wanted you out of them before dinner, but you insisted we eat.”

“I did.”

“Yes, well now I find I’m rather full. A walk should speed up digestion nicely, so that when we do retire to our room, there will be nothing slowing us down.”

“Ah, there’s the genius I fell in love with,” John grinned, threading his fingers through Sherlock’s, his thumb rubbing circles across the soft, warm skin on the back of Sherlock’s hand, “always thinking one step ahead.”

               

The sky slowly darkened and the trees lining the streets lit-up with fairy lights as John and Sherlock walked along, stopping to look into shop windows if something caught their eye. They were just nearing the end of one street when the sound of strings caught their ears, and John had to practically run to keep up with Sherlock who was all but dragging him in the direction of the music. The source turned out to be a string quartet set up in the town square, where dozens of people sat on the ground or in folding chairs, enjoying the music on the cool mid-May evening.

They wound their way through the small crowd until John spotted a large planter box, and sat down before someone else could take it, pulling Sherlock into his lap as he did.

“Comfy?” he asked, wrapping his arms around Sherlock’s waist, and one of Sherlock’s around his shoulders to keep the lanky lug from falling off.

“Very,” Sherlock hummed, gave John a quick kiss on the cheek and turned back towards the quartet. “I hate to admit this,” he said after a few minutes of listening, “but I don’t recognize any of these compositions. I wonder if they’re original pieces.”

“They’re not,” mumbled John, earning himself one of Sherlock’s adorable crinkled forehead frowns.

“Really? How do you know they’re not? How do you recognize them, and I don’t?”

“Because they just finished ‘Smooth Criminal’ by Michael Jackson, and this is Coldplay’s ‘Clocks’”

“Ah, pop music.”

“Pop music,” John nodded.

“Now that I think about it, I think I may have heard this song before.”

“You have.”

“Though I believe this version is more to my liking. The melody is rather lovely, and any lyrics would just distract from it.” Sherlock mused, returning his attention to the music.

The music really was beautiful, but as the players transitioned into their next song, John found his focus sifting away from the notes filling the square, and onto the man in his arms, sitting across his lap. He watched Sherlock listen to the quartet, in what John could only describe as wrapped in the most perfect happiness. A gentle smile spread across his face and his long thin fingers waved in time with the music. And his eyes… Sherlock’s eyes took on a languid, almost dreamy quality; so unlike those of Sherlock on a case, Sherlock quick-witted and relentless, ready to take down the criminal, solve the mystery, or just show that he was smarter than everyone else around him. Sherlock was enraptured by the music, and John was enraptured by Sherlock.

 

“You know,” John said once the concert had ended, and people started to leave, “I can’t ever imagine a life anywhere but in London, but it is nice to get away sometimes and just relax in the relative calm and quiet.”

“I’m inclined to agree, but only on occasion, and only,” Sherlock said, nuzzling his nose against the side of John’s face, “as long as I’m with you.”

John let out a small giggle, Sherlock breath tickled his cheek. “Well of course. Peace and quiet would be absolute hell without you to share it with,” he grinned, taking Sherlock’s face in his hands and pulling his love down into a slow kiss.

“I think it’s safe to say that we’ve allowed enough time for our dinner to be sufficiently digested.” Sherlock said once the kiss broke several minutes later.

“Oh definitely,” John agreed, knowing exactly where Sherlock was going… and loving it.

“And it’s getting pretty late; it’s past ten.”

“It is.”

“Then don’t you think, John, that it’s high time we head back to our room?”

“Oh God, yes.”

 

John had barely made it through the door before he found himself suddenly backed up against it, all but caged in by Sherlock, their bodies pressed together from thigh to chest, Sherlock’s mouth on his in a crushing, heart-stopping, breathtaking, fever inducing kiss. John snaked an arm around Sherlock’s waist in an attempt to pull him impossibly closer, as Sherlock’s hand, with his violin callused fingers, cupped John’s jaw. Lips parted, heads tilted, and the kiss deepened. It was only at the feel of Sherlock’s hand sliding down the press at the front of John’s jeans, that a coherent thought finally managed to push its way through the fog of need and want clouding John’s mind.

Panting, he broke the kiss, and grabbed at Sherlock’s wrist. “Mmmmm, wait, wait.”

“No, no waiting,” moaned Sherlock, breaking the weak hold on his wrist to fumble at John’s belt and zip. “You stopped us before, for dinner. You can’t – you can’t stop us again. You can’t make me wait a second longer.”

“I don’t – I don’t want to stop either,” John gasped, and for a moment gave in to Sherlock’s touch. “But I want – I need to take a shower. I need to get – get all this train smell off me.”

“You smell fine. Better than fine.” Sherlock buried his nose in John’s neck. “You smell amazing. You taste amazing,” he added, nipping at the skin under John’s jaw.

It took every last ounce of strength for John to push Sherlock back, and slip out from between him and the door. “And I promise I’ll smell and taste even better after a shower.”

“Impossible.” Sherlock groaned, and flopped down on the bed in a huff.

John bit back a laugh. “Well,” he said, stopping just inside the doorway to the bathroom to look back at his sulking boyfriend, with what he hoped was his most inviting smile, “aren’t you going to join me?”

 

*******

His body still singing from John’s touch, Sherlock, entangled around John, tumbled completely naked and still wet from their shower, onto the bed. Hands roamed, hips rocked, and mouths licked and kissed away the water still dotting their skin. John was right, he did taste better after the shower – not that he didn’t taste amazing before. If it weren’t for John’s mouth on him just ten minutes earlier, there would have been no way he could have lasted a single second of John’s shower slicked skin sliding against his as they rolled around on the plush bedding. Even so, he felt the familiar tension building in his lower abdomen – a tension that only John could inspire – and he felt himself start to stiffen once again.

Thrusting against John’s thigh, John’s own hard length pressed against his stomach, both panting into each other’s mouths when the moans and kissing got to be too much; Sherlock felt like he was on fire, every cell was burning, calling out. Hands sliding down his love’s warm, well-muscled back, Sherlock gripped John’s arse, pulling him impossibly closer, trying to get the friction he so desperately craved, so desperately needed. It wasn’t enough. He wanted, he _needed,_ more. He needed…

“ _Nnngghaa_ – _oh – oh John._ ” Sherlock whimpered when John’s teeth grazed the skin just below his ear. It felt so good; so good. “I need – _ah –_ I need…”

“What?” John murmured, his voice coming out low and muffled as his lips slid along Sherlock’s jaw. “What do you need? Tell me Love… tell me what you need.”

“T – touch me.” Sherlock gasped, canting his hips, grinding himself harder against John, leaving no doubt as to where exactly he needed to be touched. “I don’t know how much longer… how much longer I’m going to last… Pl – please I need you… to touch me.” 

Without saying another word, John pushed Sherlock onto his back, and with one arm braced next to Sherlock’s head, one leg still between Sherlock’s, wrapped a lube coated hand – when had he gotten the lube? – around both of them. And oh… oh god, that was all it took. Sherlock’s hips started to buck, all higher brain function, all sense of control abandoned him. He clawed at John’s back, tugged at John’s hair. Thrusting faster and faster, Sherlock fucked into the tight fist, fucked himself against John’s own leaking prick until his vision cut out, and he was bowing off the bed, crying out, spilling himself over and over again over John’s hand and onto his own stomach. With pure dopamine coursing through his system, his heart racing, his ears ringing, he just registered John’s own cries, and the hot splash of John’s release mixing with his.

Bliss. That was all Sherlock could think as John’s mouth claimed his, and they slowly and carefully came down from their shared high. Unchecked, and uncontrolled bliss.

 

Eventually, when their heart rates slowed, and their breath returned, John wrapped his arms around Sherlock and rolled them onto their sides. “Happy Anniversary, Bumble.” he whispered, his dark blue eyes and smile radiating nothing but love as he ran his nose along Sherlock’s.

 _12:11 am._ It was officially their anniversary.

“Did you… Did you time it so we’d finish right at our anniversary?”

Not bothering to answer, John’s grin only broadened. Though that was answer enough. John was… Oh, John was very good.

“It was the happiest day of my life, you know, getting together with you.” Sherlock said eventually.

“Mine too,” John replied softly. “And every day since. I love you, Sherlock Holmes. With my whole heart, I love you.”

“And I love you, John Watson… Though the heart doesn’t actually play a role in love. The brain is really the organ responsible for love. So I’ll say, I love you with my whole brain.”

That earn a giggle from John, who leaned forward to kiss Sherlock, the laughter still on his lips. “And what a brain it is! But you _feel_ love in your heart.”

“And that feeling is interpreted in the brain. You know you love someone in your brain.”

“Well you know what my brain is telling me right now?”

“What?”

“That your hair has gone ridiculously frizzy, and you look incredibly adorable.” Teased John, his fingers carding through Sherlock’s hair.

Sherlock’s hand shot immediately to his head to find that his curls had indeed dried into a frizzy disaster. Oh, this meant war. With a near growl, he pushed John backwards to climb on top of him and pin him to the bed. “And tell me, exactly whose fault is it that my hair is in such a state?”

“Guilty as charged!” John cried, his head thrown back. And he called Sherlock the drama queen. “I am completely at your mercy, what’s my punishment for committing such a terrible, terrible crime?”

“Oh, I think I can think of something. But it’s safe to assume that, once I’m done with you, we are going to be needing to take another shower.”

Any retort John may or may not have had was lost when Sherlock leaned down to silence him with a rough kiss. John had a lot to answer for.

 

********

 

“John Hamish Watson! What are you wearing?!”

Confused, John looked down at himself. He was wearing a pair of jeans and a jumper, no different than most days. Alright, so the jumper was new, and of slightly better quality than his usual everyday dress, but it wasn’t like he was in a tux or anything.

“My clothes?” he answered slowly, feeling unsure.

“Exactly! Why are you wearing clothes?” Sherlock both looked and sounded horrified. “When you got up to go into the bathroom, I thought you were just going to wash up from your wake-up call, not to get dressed!”

Wake-up call, that was one way to put it; fantastic blowjob was another. John awoke that morning harder than he thought possible, with Sherlock swallowing him down to the root, and circling one long finger around his entrance. His had trouble breathing for a good long while after, and could hardly move, but it was quite a way to wake up.

“Well, Love,” John grinned as he tied his shoe, trying his best to ignore the way the sheet had fallen around Sherlock’s hips, leaving very little to the imagination, “if I went down to breakfast starkers, I’d probably get some looks. I suggest you get washed up too and put something on, not that I don’t love what you’re not wearing right now.”

“Breakfast? Forget breakfast.” Sherlock stretched, and the sheet slipped lower, “Let’s forget everything, and spend the entire day naked and in bed. It’s been weeks since we’ve had a naked bed day.” He pouted.

Christ, did that man know how to play John… But it wasn’t going to work.

“Can’t today,” John shook his head, “I planned something for us today, and it requires both of us to be fully clothed, and out of this room.”

“I’m not going to be able to negotiate myself out of it, am I?” Sherlock frowned.

“Nope! But I’ll make you a deal. You get that gorgeous arse up and in the shower, and I’ll go down and bring us some breakfast to eat up here.”

“Ugghh, fine.” Sherlock groaned. “But I’m only cooperating because you called my arse gorgeous.” And with a preening smirk, he strutted into the bathroom.

“That-a-boy!” John laughed. “And trust me, it’ll all be worth it.” At least he really hoped it would all be worth it.

 

It was late morning by the time Sherlock had showered, sufficiently tamed his hair, gotten dressed, been convinced to finish his entire plate of bacon and eggs, and John had managed to get him out of the inn and on the way. John grinned, they were right on schedule.

 

*******

 

John refused to tell Sherlock where they were going, and for fifteen minutes guided him by the hand through streets and up different lanes until finally, they reached a large stone gate leading into…

“The Alnwick Gardens,” Sherlock read. “You’ve brought me to a garden?”

“Yeah,” John beamed. “They’re pretty well known, and they have plants from all over the world here. I figured wandering around in the fresh air, and having a look might be a nice way to spend a couple hours.” He was definitely up to something.

It wasn’t until they’d paid their admission fees, and made their way through the front entrance, that Sherlock figured out exactly why John had brought him to the Gardens. Just inside the front entrance was a sign pointing to the left, towards something called ‘The Poison Garden.’

“Oh wow! I had no idea that was here… I mean, what do you think that is?” John always was a horrible actor.

Not bothering to answer, Sherlock grabbed John by the hand and dragged him along the stone path, following the signs to the Poison Garden. Only, when they finally arrived in front of a large iron gate – complete with skull and crossbones and dire warnings of death – there was a small sign posted out front.

 

_‘The Poison Garden is closed for a private function.’_

 

“Oh…” Sherlock said, feeling a slight pang of disappointment. “I don’t, I don’t mind that it’s closed. There are still the rest of the gardens for us to enjoy.” John had clearly put a lot of thought into this trip, and he was not going to let one little closure spoil all of John’s planning. He was not going to let it spoil John’s day.

“Hey Sherlock, do you remember my friend Peter from uni?”

“Of course I do, you forced me to go to his wedding.” Sherlock frowned, not quite following where John was going.

“Well his father-in-law is the conservator for this entire place.” John smiled. “So I made a call, asked for a favor, and presto, the Poison Garden is ours for as long as we want it. We are free to spend all the time we want, no interruptions. We’re the private function! Happy Anniversary, Sherlock!”

“John, I don’t…” Sherlock didn’t even know what to say, where to begin. All he could think, all he could do, was wrap his hand around the back of John’s neck, and pulled him into a very sound, very thorough kiss. “Have I told you lately that I love you?”

“Yeah, but I never get tired of hearing it.”

“I love you, John… I love you, I love you, I love you!”

“I love you too, Bumble. Now come go, let’s go examine some deadly plants!”

 

For the next two hours, Sherlock slowly walked from exhibit to exhibit, examining each plant, and telling John about their various properties, how they killed, and some of the more gruesome crimes in which they’d been involved. If there was a better gift John could have given him, Sherlock didn’t know what it would be. He even produced gloves and plastic baggies from his carrier bag so that Sherlock could take samples home with them. Though Sherlock did have to promise to properly label all the cuttings and keep them out of their kitchen, but that was easy enough to do. It was fantastic, absolutely fantastic.

“Massive seizures and respiratory failure can start as quickly as five minutes after…” Sherlock started to say, but as he turned around, he felt his heart stutter and his breath catch in his chest. There before him, a nervous smile on his face as he gazed up him, was John down on one knee. “John? What… What are you doing?” He breathed.

“William Sherlock Scott Holmes… Sherlock –” started John, only for Sherlock to cut him off.

“Yes!”

“W – what?” John stumbled, blinking rapidly.

“Yes, John! If you’re about to ask me what I think you’re about to ask me, my answer is yes!”

“Oh… Ok… I,” John laughed, shaking his head slightly. “I had a whole speech planned, but… yeah, ok.”

“I’m sorry, I – I shouldn’t have interrupted. I… go on, I want to hear it… but, yes!” Sherlock grinned.

“Right, where was I?”

“You were saying my name.”

“Oh right, thanks… William Sherlock Scott Holmes.” John started again, this time taking both of Sherlock’s hands in his. “Sherlock… My Sherlock… My Bumblebee… My Funny Bumble.” Sherlock felt his eyes prickle, and let out a small sniffle. He always loved that nickname. “I am a decidedly ordinary man.” John continued. “I was born ordinary, and I always thought I was destined for an ordinary life. I figured I’d become a doctor, maybe I’d eventually find an ordinary man or woman, I’d fall in ordinary love, and live out my days as nothing more than ordinary.”

“There is nothing… nothing ordinary about you, John. You could never be ordinary,” Sherlock breathed. How could John ever think he was ordinary? John was a marvel.

John’s grin broadened, and his cheeks pinkened. “Yes, well, that ordinary life went right out the window years ago when, late one evening, I was leaving the library and I met you… this surly, stubborn, utterly ridiculous boy; this _extraordinary_ man. From that moment on, my life was no longer ordinary, and my life would never be ordinary again. I got to know you and you became my friend, then you became my best friend, the best friend I could ever imagine… And I fell in love with you. I fell in love with your heart, your mind, your passion, and your world. Every day with you was, and is, exciting, a new adventure. Meeting, and falling in love with you was nothing short of a miracle, but what is even more of a miracle is that somehow, _you_ fell in love with _me._

“I don’t know what I did to catch your attention, let alone keep it. I don’t know what it was I did to earn your love or your loyalty –”

“Everything, John. It’s everything you’ve ever done.”

“Ha, yeah,” John huffed. “Well clearly I must have done something right in these extraordinary years we’ve had together. And whatever I’m doing right, I want to keep doing it.

“Six years ago today, on the night we got together, I told you that I wanted us to be ‘one hundred percent,’ and for these past six years, I have given you everything, and I know you have given me everything too. But now I want to give you more, I want more. I want these past six years to translate into all our years, into forever.

“Sherlock Holmes, you once told me it was you and me against the rest of the world, well, will you let it truly be you and me against the rest of the world? Will you allow me to spend the rest of my life by your extraordinary side? Sherlock Holmes… my love, my heart, my extraordinary Bumble… will you marry me?"

His vision blurred, barely able to think straight, Sherlock dropped to his knees and kissed John harder, and with more love than he knew he had in his body. “Yes! Yes, of course, I’ll marry you. Yes!” he said through the kisses.

“Well that’s a relief,” John chuckled against Sherlock’s lips, his arms wrapped tightly around Sherlock’s back, “we still have three nights left here, and that would have been really awkward if you’d turned me down.”

“John, you’re being ridiculous again,” Sherlock sniffed, wiping the tears from his eyes – surely a result of all the flowers in the vicinity, and not an overabundance of emotions coursing through his body. “As if there was any chance I would turn you down. As if I could ever say no.”

“Well what can I say, loving you as much as I do, it makes me ridiculous.”

“I fear loving you has made me ridiculous, too.” Sherlock murmured, kissing John again and again. Kissing his fiancé… John was his fiancé!  He always knew he was going to spend the rest of his life with John, but now… now it was official.

 

“I guess now I can give you this.” John said after what could have been hours – Sherlock wasn’t exactly sure – of kissing and holding each other amongst some of the deadliest plants known to man, and pulled from his pocket a small box. “It’s not a ring, because… well, if you said yes, I wanted us to pick out our rings together…”

For possibly the hundredth time since waking up, Sherlock felt like his heart was going to beat out of his chest when he opened the box. “This is…”

“Yep! I got it cleaned and restored!”

“My uncle’s pocket watch…” Sherlock’s voice trailed off, he couldn’t believe it. The watch had belonged to his great-great-great uncle, the original Sherlock Holmes, the man after whom Sherlock was named.

Nearly a year before, they had been at his parent’s house, helping them pack up the house to move, when they found the watch in the attic. He had told John what little he knew about the original Sherlock, that he too had been a detective, back in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. Sherlock had always admired his mysterious relation, imagining what kind of adventures he had, and what kinds of cases he cracked. Sherlock couldn’t believe John remembered.

“There’s even an inscription on the inside.” John said. “I couldn’t believe my eyes when I saw it, it was like fate.”

 

_To My Sherlock –_

_Time only has meaning when I am sharing it with you_

_Faithfully Yours Forever_

_– J_

 

“There were mentions of a ‘J’ in some of his diaries, but the family could never figure out who ‘J’ was.” Sherlock said quietly.

“Who knows, maybe he had his own John to chase after him and love him.”

“Maybe… I hope so.” Sherlock grew quiet, turning the watch over and over in his hand, examining the little intricate details, it was truly a thing of beauty. And John had had it fixed for him, had used something so gorgeous and so meaningful to ask him to marry him. The amount of thought John put in to everything, organizing the trip, reserving the garden, getting the watch, it was astonishing.

“You haven’t been planning this for only two weeks, have you?”

“HA, no. It might have been a tad bit longer.”

“How much longer?” Sherlock asked.

“Actual concrete planning, and not just knowing I wanted to marry you? Two months.” Two months? Sherlock could have been engaged to John for two whole months! “I was looking up something about nightshade when I found a link to this place, saw who ran it, and I just knew this was where I was going to propose to you. Since the proposal was going to be outside, I obviously had to wait until the weather was a bit more reasonable, and with our anniversary when it is, it couldn’t have been more perfect. Then it was just a matter of going to see your parents about –”

“Oh god, you didn’t go to ask them for my hand or anything, did you?” That practice had always confused and frankly, annoyed Sherlock. Children were not chattel to be traded to the highest bidder anymore, marriage was not negotiation. Ceremonial or not, his parents’ ‘blessing’ had no bearing on Sherlock deciding to spend the rest of his life with John.

“God no.” John laughed. “I figured you’d want to be the one to tell them if we were going to get married. No, I went to see them to get the pocket watch. Though I’m pretty sure they figured out what I was going to do with it, anyway.”

“That explains why Mummy was so excited when I told her we were going to be out of town.”

“Yeah, she hugged me and started to cry, saying how much she was sure you were going to love the watch. Then your dad shook my hand and told me how lucky you were to have found me, and how happy he is that I’m in your life.”

“They’re right, though. I do love the watch, I’ll wear it always,” Sherlock said, securing it to the inside pocket of his jacket, “and I am incredibly lucky to have found you.”

“Nonsense, I’m the lucky one.”

“Agree to disagree?” Sherlock said, rising an eyebrow.

John nodded. “Agree to disagree.”

“Good. Now, I hope you don’t have anything else planned for today…”

“Beyond asking you to marry me? Nope, hadn’t really thought much after that. Why?”

“Because,” Sherlock smirked, dropping his voice a register, knowing exactly what it did to John, “I’ve made love to my best friend, and I’ve made love to my boyfriend, but I have yet to experience what it’s like to make love to my fiancé.”

John leaned forward run his nose along Sherlock’s cheekbone. “And you want to find out, do you?” he hummed, his breath warm against Sherlock’s skin. It felt amazing.

“Oh god, yes. We need to have sex, lots and lots of sex,” Sherlock groaned.

“Really? Lots and lots of sex?” Shit, John was going to do him in right there.

“Yes! And I mean Banyard stakeout levels of sex, when we had no electricity and next to no mobile signal.”

“Mmmm, the Banyard stakeout _was_ one of my favorites. Lead the way, Future-Husband!”

 

*******

 

Oh God, Sherlock was perfect, so perfect. God, Sherlock was gorgeous, so, so gorgeous. Sherlock was gorgeous and perfect, and all his. John loved him, God how John loved him.

 

They would have made it back to the inn in record time, had they not stopped every few minutes to pull each other into alleys and push each other up against walls. And when they did finally make it back to their room… oh, it was better than John could have ever imagined. Sex with Sherlock had always been amazing, right from the beginning all those years ago, it took his breath away. But now? Now that Sherlock had agreed to marry him… it was something new, something astonishing, it was… _transcendent_.

They took it slow, John wanted to commit every single second of it to memory, and surely Sherlock did too. They removed each other’s clothing one article at a time, touching, kissing, nipping, tasting, _feeling,_ each other as they went. And only when they were both completely naked, kneeling together on the unmade bed, held in each other’s arms, did Sherlock back John up, pushing him to sit against the headboard.

John watched with his heart in his throat as Sherlock opened himself up, biting his lip and moaning as he breached himself with one, two, three fingers. Sherlock was beautiful, an otherworldly creature John didn’t feel worthy to touch, but he could touch him. Sherlock was his, and only his to touch.

Sherlock sunk down slowly, his breath coming out as whimpers and gasps until he finally settled in John’s lap. John was completely surrounded by his lover’s – his fiancé’s – tight warmth. It was heart stopping, breathtaking; Sherlock was breathtaking. John’s love for him was all-consuming, irreversible, and ever growing.

“Are you alright?” he asked, running his hands up Sherlock’s sides, Sherlock’s body warm and trembling under his touch.

“Yes, John – _ah –_ yes” breathed Sherlock. His eyes screwed shut, his mouth slack, Sherlock rolled his hips, a small cry escaping. John had never seen anything more beautiful, more captivating than Sherlock in the beginning stages of pleasure; pleasure that John was giving him. 

 

Their mouths barely parted as they made love slowly; Sherlock on his knees, his arms draped over John’s shoulders, John’s arms around Sherlock’s waist, guiding his love down as he carefully thrust up into him. The room quickly filled with the sounds of the bed’s soft creaking, moans muffled against rapidly dampening skin, and desperately panted ‘I love you’s.’

“You – _hah –_ you asked me t – _oh god –_ to marry you.” Sherlock’s words were sounding slurred and his movement were growing more and more uncoordinated. He was getting close, John could tell.

“I did.” John mumbled, his lips trailing up Sherlock’s neck. God how he loved Sherlock’s neck.

“ _Ngghaa –_ We’re getting – _UGH JOHN! –_ We’re getting married.”

“We are.”

“The rest of – of our lives.”

“Forever – _ugha_ – Forever, Love.” John panted, wrapping a hand around Sherlock’s leaking prick, pulling him in time with their thrusts.

Neither lasted long after that, Sherlock’s rocking became erratic as he dropped down on John harder and harder, John buried himself in deeper and deeper, clinging to Sherlock’s back with one hand, and pumping him with the other. And when they both came together, it was a revelation. Sherlock’s muscles contracting around John so tight that John swore he saw stars as he emptied himself for what felt like hours into Sherlock’s shuttering body.

 

“That was…” John swallowed once he’d regained his breath, and his senses had finally returned. His body felt loose, relaxed… he felt amazing.

“Yeah.”

“So… How was it, making love to your fiancé? Was everything you expected?”

John wasn’t sure he’d seen Sherlock laugh so hard, his whole body shook and the deep rumbles of his laughter filled their room. It was infectious and soon John was laughing too, laughing so hard he felt a stitch form in his side.

“Everything and more. It was fantastic, John.” Sherlock sighed. “Making love to my fiancé was fantastic.”

“Mmm, then just wait until you do it with your husband!” John grinned, only for the laughter to start all over again.

“You know what we should do now?” John said once the laughter eventually died down, turning on his side to face Sherlock.

“Go for round two?” Sherlock replied, looking hopeful.

“Yes, that too, but I was thinking more along the lines of getting something to eat. Breakfast was hours ago, and we just burned a lot of calories.” And as if on cue, John’s stomach rumbled.

“John Watson!” Sherlock barked, sitting bolt upright and leveling John with a near dangerous glare. “Don’t you even dare think about putting on clothes and leaving this room! I forbid it!”

“God forbid I put on clothes.” John giggled, pulling Sherlock back down onto the bed. “No, I was thinking more along the lines of us getting room service. I’d only need to put on a dressing gown to open the door, then it’d be back to au naturel.”

“Oh, well in that case, I definitely wouldn’t mind eating au naturel with you.” Grinned Sherlock.

“Excellent! Any preferences.”

“I don’t care. Just make it something with a lot of sauce, something messy.”

“Messy?” John frowned. “Why do you want something messy?”

"Because,” Sherlock purred. God that voice, “when you drip something on yourself, and you will drip something on yourself, I get to be the one to lick it off.”

“Oh, you are a bad, bad man, Sherlock Holmes.”

“Yep! Oh, and make sure to order a bottle of Champagne and something sweet for dessert. We’re celebrating, after all.”

 

*******

 

The chicken fettuccini in a white vodka cream sauce turned out to be an excellent choice, as they ended up eating more of it off of each other, than off of the plates. Though they may or may not have intentionally dripped the sauce down their chins, and dropped the noodles on to their chests. Well, at least Sherlock did it on purpose, and something told him John did too. Then there was the chocolate lava cake. The mix of warm chocolate and the taste of John’s skin, was an intoxicating combination that was sure to leave Sherlock reeling for days. The shower they shared to clean off all the residue, was even better. They did have to call down to get a change of sheets – which they replaced themselves, it would have been unfair to make the inn staff deal with that mess – but it was absolutely worth it.

 

“I nearly forgot, I have an anniversary gift for you.” Sherlock said, handing John a package and joining him under the fresh linens, “Though I guess it’s technically an engagement gift now.”

“It can be both!” John said as he tore open the wrapping. “It’s… they’re brain scans.” He said, staring down at the framed picture, a confused smile on his face.

“It’s my brain,” Sherlock explained. “Last week I had a PET scan done and during it I looked at pictures of you and of our life together, and listened to recordings your voice. Mike helped me out, he snuck me in using some fake patient name.”

“Oh Sherlock…”

“I know I always say that it’s my mind, my brain, that’s important.” Sherlock continued, looking down at the scans nervously. “It’s my brain that makes me who I am, makes me valuable. But I wanted… I wanted to show you that it’s not just me alone. I wanted to show you the effect that _you_ have on my… on my brain, on me. Seeing you, hearing you, it lights everything up. You’re the… you’re the spark that lights me up, and makes me who I am… I can’t… I can’t be me without you.” He finished quietly.

It was quiet for a few long moments, then at the sound of John’s deep exhale, and the sound of a poorly stifled sniffle, Sherlock looked up to see John wiping at his eyes.

“Did I… Did I do it wrong?” He never was a good gage of what was and wasn’t appropriate. Maybe a framed picture of his brain was too weird?

“No, Bumble, no. I love it.” John laughed, his eyes still damp, and his voice came out heavy. “It’s completely you, and it’s absolutely perfect.”

“You think so?”

John grinned, set down the frame, and took Sherlock’s hands in his, gently brushing his lips across Sherlock’s knuckles. “Yes, absolutely. It’s the second best anniversary gift I could have ever gotten.”

“Second?” Frowned Sherlock.

“Yeah, well it would have taken the top spot,” John scooted forward with a sigh, and curled his hands around Sherlock’s hips, “but then earlier today, I asked the most brilliant, most handsome, most wonderful man in the world to be my husband. Then, by some miracle, he said yes. I just can’t think of anything that could top getting to spend the rest of my life with him.”

“Really, John,” blushed Sherlock, “the miracle is that you want to spend your life with me.” And it was a miracle. John was smart, handsome, kind, and perfect. John could have had his pack of pretty much anyone, and for some reason, he wanted Sherlock. It didn’t make any sense, that John could be happy with someone so strange, anti-social, and at times completely oblivious. John coming into his life was a miracle, John wanting him was a miracle, John was a miracle. He was miracle Sherlock didn’t deserve, but one Sherlock was going to sure as hell hold onto.

“Hmmm, agree to disagree.” John hummed, and pulled Sherlock back down with him to the bed, his lips putting a stop to any further argument.

 

“I didn’t even know this was possible.” Sherlock said sometime later, as they lay on their sides facing each other under the covers, John’s thumb slowly and gently rubbing back and forth along his cheek. It’s what he imagined heaven would feel like, if he believed in such a place as heaven.

“Didn’t know what was possible, Bumble?”

“To be in love like this. To love someone this much, to love someone as much as I love you. To be this happy. Take your pick.”

John’s deep blue eyes shown with a softness that spoke a thousand things at once, and the smile that spread across his face, was enough to fill Sherlock’s chest a dozen times over. “Tell me about it. I go to bed every night – or whenever it is we end up going to bed – thinking that there’s no way I could possibly love you any more than I already do, then when I wake up and see you, I love you all the more. It’s like my love for you is always at the max, but the max is ever increasing.”

“Like the expansion of the universe?”

“Yes.” John nodded. “My love for you is like the universe.”

Sherlock sighed and buried his face in John’s neck. “John, do you know how ridiculously romantic you sound?”

“Hey, you’re the one who came up with the universe metaphor. Kudos on learning something about space, by the way.” John said, giving Sherlock’s cheek a playful slap. “And besides, I’m allowed to be ridiculously romantic with the love of my life!”

“Really, I’m the love of your life?”

“No, David Attenborough is.” John rolled his eyes. “Of course you are! Why would you possibly think otherwise?”

“I don’t,” grinned Sherlock, fighting like hell to keep from giggling. “I just like hearing you say it.”

“Ugh, you’re ridiculous, did you know that?” John huffed, giggling right along with Sherlock. “You’re a ridiculous, ridiculous man!”

“Well what does that say about you? You’re the one marrying me.” Sherlock countered, leaning forward to nip at John’s chin.

“You’re damn right I am! Now come here and let me prove to you once and for all, just who’s the love of my life.”

Needless to say, John made a _very_ convincing argument.  

 

*******

 

The rest of their anniversary – now engagement – getaway was spent waking late in the mornings, and getting out of bed even later. They wandered hand in hand through the town, and even explored a bit of the countryside – Sherlock’s shoes weren’t the best for long hikes, so they didn’t venture too far from paved paths. But best of all, Sherlock took every opportunity to refer to John as his fiancé, to just about everyone they met. At the risk of being called ridiculously romantic again, John would have said it was like a dream.

 

The day after what John had decided was the best day of his life, whilst walking around the castle, they discovered the Fusiliers Museum of Northumberland, and John insisted they go in. His three times great-grandfather had served with the Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers during the Second Anglo-Afghan war. Sure enough, there was a display about them, including a register where John found Hamish Watson’s name, and those of Hamish’s brothers John and Henry. John hadn’t realized just how much the Watson clan liked to recycle names. Sherlock of course, made fun of the mustaches everyone seemed to be sporting, and forbid John from ever growing one when John joked that he may look good with a mustache. That night, John was pleased to discover that Sherlock harbored a little thing for men in uniform, and was very much delighted with John’s family history.

 

“John, come here. Look at these.” Sherlock called. It was Sunday, their last full day before returning to London, and John had somehow convinced Sherlock to walk around the Sunday market with him.

“Hmmm?” John said, looking down at where Sherlock was pointing to a row of thin metal bands.

“It’s handmade jewelry.”

John chuckled. “I can see that.”

“They have rings.”

“They do. What are you trying to say, Bumble?” He knew exactly what Sherlock was getting at, but he wanted Sherlock to say it.

“You’re being obtuse on purpose, aren’t you?” Sherlock sighed. John just grinned. “Fine. You asked me to marry you with the pocket watch, and I can’t imagine a better and more perfect engagement gift, but I think we should still have engagement rings. They are the most commonly recognized sign of an engagement.”

“You want us both to wear rings?”

“Don’t be an idiot, John, of course we both need them. We’re both engaged, aren’t we?”

“Oh of course. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

God, it was fun to tease Sherlock, and John was going to get to tease him for the rest of their lives.

 

“There,” he said a little while later, as he slipped the thin silver band onto Sherlock’s finger, and Sherlock slipped one onto his, “we are officially engaged for all the world to see. There’s no backing out now.”

“Yeah, that’s never going to happen.” Sherlock snorted. “You’re rather stuck with me now, and I have the ring to prove it.”

“Good.” John beamed, glancing down at their hands. “I’m actually really glad we did this, got the rings here. It gives them even more meaning, they’re like a permanent tie to this place, a permanent reminder of this fantastic weekend.”

“Oh, John,” Sherlock’s voice was so soft, and his eyes so unguarded and full of love, as he cupped John’s face, the medal of his new ring cool against John’s cheek, “I don’t need a ring to remind me. I’m never going to forget a single second of this weekend. For as long as I live, it’s etched in my memory forever.”

For the nth time that weekend, John felt his eyes begin to prickle. “You know what, I don’t think I’ll forget a single second either.” And then, wrapping his arms around his fiancé’s neck, he sealed their predictions – their promises – with a kiss.

Forever, for the rest of their lives, that surly, stubborn, ridiculous, extraordinary boy from the library, was his. Sherlock was his.

**Author's Note:**

> The Poison Garden and The Fusiliers Museum of Northumberland are both real, and both found in Alnwick. They are both on my bucket list to visit one day.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this fic even half as much as I enjoyed writing it. Please let me know what you thought. It's cold in my apartment, and comment/critiques/corrections would do wonders to warm my old zombie bones.
> 
> Until we meet again, thanks for reading!
> 
> Ellie/Jens xx


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